


Blame it on my A.D.D, baby

by kittybenzedrine



Series: hello yes this is random cronkri [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Humanstuck, M/M, Sadstuck, So yeah, Suicide Attempt, cronkri - Freeform, cronus finds him, cronus is a pillhead, kankri tries to kill himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 10:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittybenzedrine/pseuds/kittybenzedrine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing can prepare you for the sight you're greeted with when you open the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame it on my A.D.D, baby

Wakefulness and a headache punch you awake. The alarm clock next to you, on your beside table, blinks 9:17pm. You sniff and sit up. You blink slowly, getting used to the dullness of your dark, very cluttered bedroom Your first thought is that wow, you slept for like 11 hours. The second is to check your phone, but like always, no one contacted you. The third is that Kankri hasn't been here all day. That worries you. If he doesn't come over that day, he ends up calling and asking in a slurry voice for you to come join him at his house.

As soon as you stand up, you fall back against your bed. Probably over did it with the vicodin and somas earlier. You tap a cigarette out of the pack on the bedside table and light it. You smoke about half, and then grab your house/car keys. Taking a moment to sit on the couch, you puff away at your cigarette while you put on and lace up your boots. With a huffy sigh, you're out the door by 9:25.

You make a face once you realize your didn't brush your teeth. Ugh.

It's probably not the best idea to drive when you're fucked up on pills. Your head swims, and you're still so tired. It takes you a few seconds to collect yourself and remember to drive when the stoplights turn green. By 9:42, you're pulling into the extra space labeled for Kankri's apartment. You put out your second cigarette of the night with the heel of your boot and pad across the parking lot to his clean, pristine  
looking apartment.

You knock several times, but he doesn't answer. You hear shuffling inside, so you call his name while knocking a little bit softer. To no avail. It's then that you remember you have a key to is apartment. You flick through your key ring and finally pluck out the red painted key and shove it in the lock. Right as the lock clicks open, you hear an awful thump from deep inside the home. You jiggle the key out and throw the door open. Once again, you call out “Kan?!”, but there's no answer.

With a hefty kick from your shoe, the door slams shut and you move quickly. There's an empty 6-pack of Heineken, several more empty cans, and blood in the kitchen and holy fuck a steak knife sits on the floor in a very scary looking puddle of blood. A messy spatter of blood is in a line across the light colored carpet. You follow the red trail to the hallway. His bedroom door is shut, but there's not blood there so you don't worry about it. The bathroom door is shut as well, but there's bloody hand prints on the door and handle. Swallowing hard, you place your hand on the bloody knob and open the door.

Nothing can prepare you for the sight you're greeted with when it's opened. He's only in pajama pants. His arms are sliced to high hell and blood covers the toilet seat and the floor around it. His toes brush the top of the porcelain lid and his face is turning a reddish purple and you're on him in half a second, lifting him up by the waist. His neck doesn't look broken. You hope to god he's still breathing. You flick out your switchblade and slice through the noose he's hanging from. As soon as he's down, you rip the rope from around his throat. There's an angry red circle all the way around.

A note is nicely placed on the back of the seat. It's folded in the middle and standing upright like a tent. It's bloody, but nice and pristine, just how he liked for things to be. You pick him up and grab the note, and rush to your car. He's completely unresponsive, and he's breathing but only just. 

You drive like you did when you used to drag race. It's a miracle that you don't get pulled over. When you have to stop at lights, you check to make sure he's still breathing. It's shallow, but not gone. You pull into a parking place in the front of the hospital hastily and carry him in. The staff in the ER take one look at him and they're all over you, taking him from you and questioning you.

He's put on a gurney and the people are yelling things to each other, rushing off and you hear things that your memory blocks out. A doctor leads you over to the waiting area and says that you should probably get a new shirt. A nurse calls for him and he's gone.

Once the commotion dies down, you find yourself sitting in an awfully padded chair. Your boyfriend's blood covers your shirt. Stiffly, you take your phone and call his dad, telling him that there was an accident. You quietly explain what happened, and you can't stop telling him sorry. With a shaky and cracking voice, he tells you that he'll be there soon. 

You notice that your other fist is clenched. You release, and the note falls from your fingers. Huh. You never read it. You lean over and pick the paper up. The blood is starting to turn brown. You almost drop it when you open and read it.

 

 

You sigh. Kankri leans against you. You're both sober enough to feel like actual human beings. He presses a kiss to your jaw. “So what's that song you wanted to show me, Cronus?” He asks, red eyes peering into yours. You sit up and go to his computer. You lay back down when it starts to play. Sail, by AWOLNATION. The lyrics stuck with you and you know they'll stick with him too. One lyric in particular.

Blame it on my A.D.D, baby.

You explain to him it's not talking about Attention Deficit Disorder A.D.D, but more like the Alcohol and Drug Dependency A.D.D. He nods. Later that night he calls you, drunk as hell, and without tagging a single trigger, tells you that you're a no good mother fucker and that you need to stop showing him songs that relate to his life. You smile through you pill induced haze and tell him that you love him too.

 

 

'6lame it 9n my A.D.D, baby. I l9ve y9u Cr9nus. And I'm s9rry.' There was more written, to his brother and dad, but you only focus on the part addressed to you. You read it over and over again. You stare at it so intently that when a doctor puts a hand on your shoulder, you nearly jump two feet out of the chair. “Mr. Ampora?” He asks. You nod and straighten yourself. He clears his throat. 

“Mr. Vantas lost a lot of blood and damaged his windpipe. We got him a transfusion and the damage to his throat should heal up pretty quickly, two weeks at most. He also has a blood alcohol content twice the legal limit, and a few prescription drugs in his system. He's alive and in stable condition. We're keeping him for the standard 72 hour suicide watch, then most likely admitting him to the mental ward.”

You stiffen and curtly tell him you'll keep him after the 72 hours is up. He tries to convince you otherwise, but Preacher Man Vantas and Karkat come in. Both have red eyes, and not just from their albinism. They talk to the doctor, and he tell them what he just told you, and adds that you want to keep him after suicide watch is up. Mr. Vantas doesn't even glance your way when he says agrees that he can go with you, and if they want to argue, he has a very nice lawyer they can talk to.

You don't know why he trusts you so much. You're the one that got his oldest son into the party scene, the one that got him started on drugs and drinking. The guy doesn't condone being gay, but he doesn't like premarital sex and you and his older son have had a _lot_ of that. You've fought with Kankri endlessly, and you're extremely ashamed to admit you've hit him twice out of anger. You've done nothing good but love his son.

Karkat reads the note that's still in your hands. Everyone stares when he screams at you and tells you it's you're fault you sorry fucking sack of ape shit, you almost made my giving brother die, I fucking hate you why did this happen to Kankri why my brother what did he ever do he's a good man why did this have to happen why why why and you're holding him, rocking him while he cries into your chest, their father sitting next to you and papping his younger son's back. For the sake of both of them, you don't let yourself cry.

 

 

None of you get to see him for the three days. You clean everything up and sell all your pills the night before he comes home. If he's gonna go through withdrawals, you'll do it with him. His brother and dad stay with you two for the first night. He sleeps most the time. His dad is the only one that can manage to get him to do anything that first day. Karkat reads to him for the rest of the time. You let them have your bed, and you sleep in the guest bed with Kankri.

Kankri wakes up for short periods of time. It's visible that he's in pain. The thick bandages around his arms soak through with blood every now and then and you know it's because he's picking at it. He starts to get very angry and snappy from his withdrawals, and you have to fight down your own aggression from your own withdrawals.

After the first two nights, Preacher Man pats you on the shoulder and tells you he has church stuff tomorrow, and he trusts that you can handle it. You hug them and tell them that you can handle Kankri and you'll call the second you need them. They leave him in your hands after that.

Pretty soon, the pain kicks in. At first, he just curls up in the middle of your bed and whines about a headache. You kiss his temples and forehead and tell him that it'll get better, you promise. He knows you're lying for his sake. He curls up into a ball a while later and starts to cry. You lay behind him, rubbing his back and lightly rocking him. When it gets to the worst, you hold him while he screams, kissing him and shushing him like he did the first time you went cold turkey off of tramadol.

When your shaking and headaches begin, you wonder if it was a good idea to take care of him. Going dry with someone is one thing, but with someone who you have to keep a strong, watchful eye over to make sure he doesn't try to kill himself (again) is another. You wonder if you should have let his dad take him. When he screams into your chest, biting the fabric and your skin, fingers pulling your unwashed hair, and tears streaking down his face, you know it was a good idea to keep him. Preacher Man and Karkat didn't need to see this.

For the first couple of days, he can't keep anything down. You can't either, but you try. He just pukes it all back up and begs you to get him some alcohol. You just wrap him up in a blanket cocoon with you and let him bite you and scream into your chest and claw you and hurt you. As long as it helps his pain, you don't give two shits about how you feel.

A few times, your dealers call you and ask what's up, so you tell them you're quitting with your man. Although they're losing money, they know what it's like and wish you the best.

It's hard to get him to wind down and relax. He relaxes the most when you bathe him. The first time you tried, you stepped out of the room to grab your cigarettes, and he cried until you got in with him. You sat on the toilet seat and said you'd wait there with him, but he was having none of that. He drug you in. He literally did drag you in. Clothes and all. Even though it hurts, you always have to turn the water up so high that it burns your skin, but he loves it. He'll relax against your skin, breathing in the steam while you massage his temples, ignoring the painful throbbing in your own. He never says a word.

Unashamedly, you fuck him through the worst of it. Sex relieves headaches, and he's willing to do anything to make it stop. He begs you to, with clipped words and soft whimpers. The sounds of pure want that drive you to do it. So you do. It benefits both of you. Afterwards, you'll kiss him, rub his shoulders, trace your fingers up his spine and listen to him sigh. Soon, so soon, the two of you begin to feel better. Less heavy headaches. Less cravings for alcohol and pills. He smokes once a day.

 

 

You wake up one morning, and the balcony door that you kept locked was cracked open. Kankri was missing from next to you. You bold up off the bed and trip, but right yourself almost instantaneously. Your mind is a blur of panic. You throw open the glass door, hoping to god he didn't jump off the second floor. Much to your relief, he stands there, cigarette in hand. He turns, and half lidded red eyes meet yours. For the first time, he speaks in something that isn't short, clipped words and pained mumbles. “I prefer being addicted to this. This craving is easier to deal with.”

 

You kiss him and don't let go for a very long time.


End file.
